


Bombs Like Silence

by Lisgreomg



Series: Wedding In Vermont [3]
Category: NCIS
Genre: Break Up, M/M, Makeup
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-03-01
Updated: 2012-03-01
Packaged: 2017-10-31 23:38:29
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 10,241
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/349578
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Lisgreomg/pseuds/Lisgreomg
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>If Gibbs is a stupidhead it's maybe not completely his fault. This is just what life taught him.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Thanks to ceruleancat for helping me through this months and months ago, though is still took me many more months to finish your help (and your patience!) was amazing.

Gibbs enjoys building boats for so many reasons he can’t actually quantify them all. He’s not exactly prone to introspection in the first place. But if he was, these are probably the conclusions he would come to.   
  
It’s the focus that drew him to it at first. Jackson had taught him how to whittle, small things, tookpicks, whistles, a rough bear. But Jackson hadn’t had the focus or the time for larger things. Leroy had needed the focus in his life, just so his insides didn’t explode.   
  
It was too fucking quiet in Stillwater, and he could hear the ghost of his mother in walls.   
  
Sanding was first, the steady sound of sand over wood, intense focus and  _care_  for what he was doing, blocked out the ghosts, drew the tension from his shoulders.   
  
From sanding to planning to plotting to cutting to figuring to  _creation_ , honest and pure. He’d finished his first boat three months after his seventeenth birthday, and had almost gone mad for the eight months before he exploded out of Stillwater, looking for  _noise_ .   
  
Gibbs found it. Bombs exploding, inches away, yards away, miles away,  _on_  him. Screaming. Screaming. Screaming.   
  
It was the opposite of boats, which were soft sound and lapping water and creation. War was dirt blood noise and explosions and destruction.   
  
He loved it too, but in a different way. In the way you have to love even the parts of you that you hate.   
  
He’d returned home and the walls had  _screamed_  at him, ghosts piled on ghosts, silently screaming.   
  
He’d learned how your ears can start to  _ache_  hunting for a sound they’d never hear again. It was worse than the bombs.   
  
He’d built a boat again out of desperation more than anything else, and had hated the thought almost as soon as he’d had it. There were memories attached to the act that he didn’t want to live with, didn’t want haunting him even more. But he started anyway and he’d fallen in love with it like breathing all over again.   
  
It wasn’t the same now, he was older, had gone through hell, and he wasn’t drowning out the ghosts anymore, but listening to them, honoring them maybe. Giving them their due.   
  
And so it happens, on one ordinary Wendnesday night, that he’s preoccupied by the ghosts as he shapes the ribs of his newest girl, careful and exact. He’s hearing them, and doesn’t hear Tony on the stairs for a long moment.   
  
When he does turn it’s with a jolt of uncomfortable shock, to find Tony watching him, and he opens his mouth to speak, to say something snarky and pithy, because Tony doesn’t belong in the room with the ghosts. Not tonight at least. He gets a look at Tony’s face first though, and it stops him cold, freezes the words on his tongue.   
  
He’s seen Tony broken, determined, scared, brave, in love, heartbroken, grieving, happy, giddy, high and on the brink of death.  But this is none of that. Or it’s too much of all of it.   
  
It makes his nerves light with awareness and he offers a drink unconsciously, moving towards Tony, who accepts the offer just as unconsciously.   
  
He moves in slowly, trying to puzzle out the look on Tony’s face, cursing the dim lighting, his slightly fuzzy awareness, and he’s focused so hard on Tony’s face that the hand on his shirt comes as a surprise.   
  
But only for a second.   
  
He’s got enough time to think  _of course_ , before Tony pulls him in and their mouths meet with something like inevitability, falling together hot and hard and perfect.   
  
It’s like slipping on a favorite shirt, it’s like hitting the target on the shooting range exactly in the center, it’s like building boats.   
  
Mostly, it’s easy. It’s ridiculously easy to lose himself into it, the press and pull of Tony against him, surging and pressing like the tide, and when Tony whimpers against his mouth he is  _lost_ .   
  
Heat lights in his veins, and he growls low against Tony’s mouth, pressing in as close as he can get with their clothes on. Tony continues making low, desperate noises against his lips, and it’s all he can do to resist tearing their clothes off where they stand. He starts shoving Tony up the stairs, suddenly desperate for this thing he never knew would be so good. He never let himself know. Tony goes willingly, and refuses to let them separate for longer than it takes to strip off their shirts. He attacks Tony’s skin, touching every inch of it that he can. Tony’s warm, so warm, and he wants to bury himself inside his warmth and live there for as long as possible.   
  
He half trips, pressing Tony too hard against a wall, and Tony lets a completely unconcerned ‘ow’ fall against his mouth, and he could no more stop his smile then he could fly. Just like that they’re laughing, as he greedily takes every square inch of skin he can reach. The laughter sits in his chest like sunshine, bright and hot and necessary.     
  
They make it to the bedroom and he has to force himself to shove Tony away so he can strip off his clothes. He doesn’t like losing the ability to touch him, already craving it again just a little. But it’s beautiful, watching Tony strip, watching every inch of skin reveal itself and the want that hits him in the gut is expected but no less visceral for it.   
  
He growls again, and attacks, sliding down to press every inch of them together. Tony rises to meet him, strong fingers dragging through his hair, pulling him in close, their mouths meet easily, perfectly. He rocks down against him and groans low at the feeling. Tony gasps, bucking up against him in response, gasps into the limited space between their mouths, “ _Gibbs_ .”   
  
He laughs, leaning in to mouth at the rapid pulse in Tony’s neck, loving the shudder he gets for it, glorying in it, “Jethro, Tony. Call me Jethro.”   
  
He’s got his lips pressed right against Tony’s throat, so he feels the laugh shudder through him, and it’s heartbreakingly intimate, it makes him smile. Tony slides his nails through his hair, scratching at his scalp and making him hum at the way it lights up his nerves. “I can’t call you that. It’s a ridiculous name.”   
  
Tony sounds happy, happier than he’s ever heard before, and he can’t even pretend to be annoyed. But he still  _bites_ down at the place on Tony’s neck that’s begging for a mark, and Tony gasps and bucks against him  _perfectly_ , and it’s crazy, because he’s never had  _this_  before, but he thinks he missed it, “Not my fault.”   
  
Tony laughs again, and God, he’s pressed in so close that the laugh echoes in  _his_  chest, and it’s like they’re sharing it. He’s getting distracted from this conversation, there’s way too much skin for him to lick and touch and  _bite_ , and his can barely concentrate on breathing. He’s  _greedy_ , wants all of this, every inch. He wants to take and own and  _keep_  it all. He wants to know everything, how every square inch of skin tastes.   
  
He moves down to press his teeth against Tony’s collarbone. The taste here is slightly different then his neck, it’s slightly cooler, which is fascinating, and he follows the path of the bone down to Tony’s chest, looking for more. There’s a slight rumble under his mouth, and he realizes that Tony’s talking again.   
  
He lifts his mouth away with a half sigh, forcing himself to pay attention to what he’s saying. And he has to laugh softly, kiss that mouth again, Tony  _would_  name him something brand new, something free from memory and context. Free from ghosts.  “Alright. Can we have sex now?”   
  
Tony laughs again, and nods, and Gibbs kisses him in reward before sliding back down to his chest to the place he left off at. Their cocks brush together when he slides down and he groans as he kisses another piece of skin, immediately sliding a hand down to wrap around both of them.   
  
Tony’s hands fly up, grasping at him and he  _loves_  that, loves the way that this feels, and he never wants to stop. He’s obsessed, now and forever. They move together easily, naturally, until Tony’s gasping, short hot sounds echoing around the room until he shudders hard. He pulls back, can’t not watch. It’s necessary, like breathing.   
  
Tony is gorgeous like this. He always figured he would be. He’s uninhibited, honest with the way he reacts, and Gibbs loves it like he has loved very few things in his life. It’s precious and perfect, and watching makes him fly over the edge himself.   
  
He collapses against Tony’s chest, breathing hard, lips pressed against a random bit of skin, just breathing him in as he slowly calms. Tony’s hands trace up and down the line of his spine before they tilt their heads together, mouths coming together again, simple as breathing. They don’t stop kissing until Tony is too far asleep to respond anymore.   
  
It’s still, desperation assuaged and Gibbs lies there, recovering, half smile still on his face as his breath calms, slowly. He stares up at the ceiling for a while, letting his heart slow, letting his brain absorb what just happened.   
  
And silence falls like bombs.   
  
He hears a steady tick of the clock, unbelievably slow as it all comes crashing down on him and his smile slips away.   
  
Tick.   
  
The ghosts are there, are always there, watching. And Gibbs has lived a life of mistakes and regrets, so they aren’t just the ghosts of the dead that haunt him. All his ex wives are there, Jenny is there, Stan is there. All of them pushing forward in his head, pushing for attention. They are a million and one ways that a relationship, any relationship, can fall apart.   
  
Tick.   
  
He breathes in slow. This is Tony. Not them. This will end differently, better. His stomach does a sick swoop at that and he curls his fingers around Tony’s wrist. Tony shifts in his sleep, curls into him a little. He tries to distract himself, tracing lines over Tony’s chest, hunting out the marks he left behind, but he can’t stop the thought once he’s had it. This will end.   
  
Tick.   
  
And God, God he knows he’s a fatalistic bastard, but he wasn’t always like this. He was made this way. He can’t not consider the end now. Everything ends. Every single thing. Especially the things that shouldn’t. The things that you want to hold onto with everything you’ve got. If there’s one thing he knows it’s that the loss of those precious things, the things that should  _never_  be lost. When you lose those, it’s hell to not let them take you too.   
  
Tick.   
  
He breathes out slow, trying to calm down, slides his fingers over Tony’s ribs, placing his hand squarely over his heart, which beats strongly in his chest. It’s unimaginable to think it could stop, but Gibbs  _knows_  it’s not impossible. For one horrid, terrifying second he thinks about what his life will be like without Tony in it and he  _can’t_ . He can’t see it, he can’t see himself going to work without Tony, can’t see himself being who he is without knowing that Tony is out there somewhere, that Tony is his in ways that are indefinable but true. But no, no he’s being crazy, overreacting. He was fine when Tony was Agent Afloat. He got through that he tells himself.   
  
Gibbs is nothing if not wonderful at lying to himself, and in this moment, in this bed, in this crisis, he believes that whole heartedly. He was fine when Tony was gone, he’s absolutely sure of it.   
  
Tick.   
  
But that’s different he knows, Tony was still out there then, still a part of the world. Still something that Gibbs had permission to reach out and touch whenever he wanted to. If something happens to Tony – if, as tradition suggests, they fall apart with violence and anger and heartbreak – that won’t be his right anymore.   
  
And this is crazy. So crazy, Gibbs is aware that this is crazy and that he’s betting on someday something maybe happening, but he can’t take that chance. He can’t lose this.   
  
It becomes clear, slowly and painfully, that this was a mistake.   
  
Tick.   
  
Time resumes its normal course. Gibbs stares at Tony’s sleeping face, shaken but unwilling to admit that even to himself.   
  
This is a mistake because this is the very  _definition_  of putting all his eggs in one basket. And he swore he’d never do that again.   
  
He can handle losing  _Agent_  DiNozzo, he’s been prepared for that loss since the day he hired him. It’s the normal flow of things like this, agents come and go, it’s easy and the way it should happen. He’d been prepared for Agent DiNozzo to move upwards and onwards for 10 years now. Losing Agent DiNozzo wouldn’t be the end of the world.   
  
Gibbs is a wonderful liar. He doesn’t even know he’s doing it anymore.   
  
Losing this, losing this body against his, this incredible man lying next to him, losing this on its own wouldn’t be the end of the world either he tells himself. He could get over it, like he’s gotten over it time and time again. The loss of a lover, the loss of a  _friend_  is nothing new. He has not let himself fall in love yet he tells himself. He tells himself that he wouldn’t be so foolish, he cannot be in love with Tony. Love – love is the thing that shatters, like trying to grip a double edged knife and Gibbs tells himself to avoid if it at all possible.   
  
He can lose an agent, he can lose a lover. Losing both at once however, is unacceptable.   
  
If Tony left the team, like he has to eventually, it would be hard. But they could still – talk. Tony would still stop by the basement and chase him out of his worse funks and split cowboys steaks on the really bad days. He’d be a desk or two away, and it wouldn’t be so bad.   
  
Gibbs will look back on this panic attack years later, and marvel at how very good he is at lying to himself.   
  
If they do this though, if he and Tony continue to do this, allow themselves to fall into each other this much further – when it goes wrong he’s not just losing an agent. He’s losing an agent a lover and a friend in one fell swoop.   
  
He doesn’t think he can do that.   
  
And the stupid thing is, the incredibly crazy part of this, is that he knows it would be all too easy, incredibly stupidly easy, to fall in love with Tony DiNozzo. Hell, he’s already halfway there.   
  
Years from now, remembering this thought will make him laugh until he cries. Because there is no ‘halfway’ to loving Tony. He was lost a decade before this, tackled to the ground in Baltimore, sitting in the police station and seeing that smile as the kid thought along with him, jumping to the end of the game.   
  
But this is not years from now, this is now, maybe an hour after Tony’s fallen asleep, come itching already on his skin. He’s lost enough people that he loved in his life he tells himself.   
  
And he knows he can’t do that again.   
  
So – so his only option he sees (the only option he allows himself to see) is to take this back. Make Tony see that this was a mistake, make him see that they were much better off the way they were before. It’ll be better for both of them if they pretend tonight never happened.   
  
He makes the decision with a heavy knot in his stomach that he refuses to acknowledge, because he has no time for regret.   
  
He tells himself that if he’s calling a do-over he should get out of bed now and go work on the boat until Tony wakes and he can explain it all. He tells himself to get out of bed now, because it’ll be easier in the long run.   
  
He watches Tony sleep until the clock ticks over to six in the morning.   
  
***   
By the time Tony skips downstairs around seven and he’s already had two cups of coffee and he’s fortified himself. Tony slows as he reaches the bottom of the stairs, smile slowly fading. Gibbs knows very well that Tony can read him better than anyone else, and usually this would make him a little proud, but at the moment he’s just . . . well.   
  
“Tony –“ he starts. He’s been going over what to say, he has a plan. Of course Tony interrupts, sounding frantic, desperate, like he’s lived this nightmare before.   
  
“No. No Gibbs,  _Jethro_ , you can’t do this. You  _can’t_  okay?  _Please_ _don’t_ .” Gibbs doesn’t hesitate, knows he can’t, forces himself to focus on the coffee cup in his hand.   
  
“We can’t do this Tony. It’s just – it’s not a good idea.”   
  
Tony falls down to his knees in front of him, hands coming out to grip at his thighs. He knows Tony is trying to get him to look at him but he avoids the gaze. He doesn’t look, swallows as Tony begs, heartfelt and  _sad_ , “Don’t do this.”   
  
Gibbs feels his resolve shudder, and stands, pulling himself away from Tony’s desperate gaze. He lets the speech he’s planned for hours now fall from his mouth without thinking about it very much. It’s easier if he doesn’t think about it.   
  
Tony stands, and now there’s fire in his voice, and Gibbs can feel his spine immediately goes straight, though inside he breathes out in relief. It’s much easier to fight, to argue and get mad than it is to kick a puppy. But either way it’s going to be much easier to deal with the fallout if he stays calm. He grits his teeth and attempts not to jump down Tony’s throat. This lasts up until Tony talks about leaving the team.   
  
That same feeling from earlier  _swoops_  through his stomach and before he knows it he’s got Tony pressed against the wall, growling out a command, a well disguised plea. Tony can’t leave. He can’t. This is what Gibbs is trying to  _avoid_ .   
  
Tony growls back, venom and vitriol and pain, and Gibbs feels the sickening knowledge that he’s taken a misstep just there, that he should have said it another way.   
  
Before he knows it Tony blows out the door, shoes in hand and he’s alone again.   
  
The silence echoes in his ears like bombs.   
  
***   
Work is  _unbearable_ . It’s like working with a fake Tony. It’s almost like Tony was after Cate died, after Jenny. A kind of shocked sadness.   
  
He thinks maybe he’s giving himself too much credit, maybe something else happened in the 30 minutes between Tony running from his place and arriving at work. But then Tony’s shoulders firm up a little and Gibbs is looking at  _Tony_ again for the first time since this morning, “You do realize that’s illegal right Boss?”   
  
It’s Tony’s tone that stings more than the words and he controls a wince, can tell where this is leading, settles for raising an eyebrow, doing his best to ignore the rock in his gut, “Really DiNozzo?”   
  
“Well I know how you love to follow rules. Thought I should point it out.”   
  
Tony’s voice is chilled, icy cold, and it hits the intended target, cutting at him.   
  
He always did have good aim.   
  
Their eyes meet and the moment is tense, and Gibbs watches with something like regret as Tony slips away behind that thick exterior. It’s painful to watch and Gibbs continues to stare at him for longer then he should, just trying to find a hint of Tony behind the ice. But it’s impossible.   
  
Tim’s voice breaks the moment, and Gibbs grabs onto the distraction with palpable relief. He refuses to admit that his voice is choked when he tells McGee to put it on the plasma.   
  
This is just what he was hoping to avoid.   
  
And, God, how much worse would it have been if he had let it go on he wonders. If he let himself fall in love?   
  
That lie, that lie is a little shaky, but Gibbs ignores it.   
  
After everything is a little more settled, and the team is focused on tying up the case Gibbs sits back, staring at Tony, trying to decide what to do. His stomach swims a little and he slugs back some coffee to calm it. Tony is obviously aware of his gaze, but his emotions are buried under this – layer of ice. It’s annoying, and Gibbs has  _never_  been this desperate to talk to someone. At least, not someone living.   
  
Tonight. He’ll talk to Tony tonight. Attempt to explain himself better, explain how  _this_  is what he’s trying to avoid. Tell him everything.   
  
If he can get it out of his stubborn throat.   
  
***   
When he gets to Tony’s apartment he’s got two coffee cups in his hands, and he has to set them down to pick the front lock. He brings them back in, locking the door behind him. Tony’s not home yet, probably still at the office being  _Agent_ DiNozzo or something. Gibbs sets one coffee cup down on the kitchen counter, and takes the other one with him as he settles on the couch.   
  
He’s been in Tony’s apartment rarely, and, as far as he knows, the rest of the team has never been here at all. Tony guards his space the same way he guards everything. With jokes and careful brush-offs, until you can barely remember that you were after something in the first place.   
  
Looking around it’s clear why, Tony practically paints his personality on the walls, Gibbs figures it would be an investigator’s dream. The television is directly across from the couch, a few open DVD cases around it. Gibbs resists temptation for all of five seconds before standing and going over to see. Casablanca’s case is open and empty. Still in the player probably. Tomas Crown Affair is back behind the TV, open with the DVD inside. He touches it, mildly curious, it’s not dusty or anything, but Gibbs would bet that this one has been sitting there like that for a while. Titanic is next to the table, on the floor, and Gibbs can practically see Tony’s nose curled up a little as he pulls it out and sets it aside. Grease and West Side Story are together on the other side of the TV, both closed, and Gibbs wonders if that means he hasn’t watched them yet or if he just finished.   
  
He wanders over to the cabinets, which are against the wall, glass doors in front of an endless supply of DVDs. He studies them for a while in confusion, wondering if they’re just placed in there randomly. He gets it after a few seconds though, they’re separated by genre, then random, probably by movies Tony likes best to least. The action genre is first, in the upper left hand corner, followed by what appears to be an entire section of con movies. After that is humor, and that’s oddly the smallest section. The final section is the one with the holes, where the movies next to the TV have already been pulled, it rivals the con section for size, and it’s only after a few long moments of confusion that Gibbs realizes it’s the romance section.   
  
He wonders if that’s what caused it, last night, if Tony had been sitting around watching romance movies for a couple days and finally just ended up in his basement. It seems probable, given what he knows about Tony. The kid always had been a romantic.   
  
He grabs the coffee off the table, taking a slow couple sips as he stares at the movies like they hold the answer to the universe. He forces himself to move away after a long moment, wanders a little further around the room.   
  
There’s a desk against one wall, littered with different pieces of crap. Gibbs doesn’t even try to page through it all, just looks over it, bills, a checkbook, Tony’s careful handwriting detailing every expense. The memos are pretty funny though, and Gibbs finds himself smiling over a couple checks that were apparently written to ‘the grocery fairy’ and ‘annoying mechanic dude – use Abby next time’.   
  
All of it is Tony, and Gibbs can barely breathe in this place without breathing him in.   
  
It’s not unlike torture.                                            
  
Well, he’s aware he’s a bit of a masochist, so the next thing he does is wander into Tony’s bedroom. The bed is made, for a certain value of made, and there’s pieces of a work suit thrown over the footboard. The bedside table is covered with random things, much like the desk. A handful of change, a copy of Tim’s novel, and an alarm clock, with one of those i-somethings slotted into it. The drawer is half open, and Gibbs pulls it open the rest of the way. It’s a gun locker, empty. In the door beneath the drawer there are two medals from different police forces. None from NCIS and Gibbs frowns a little. Seems strange that Tony wouldn’t have anything from NCIS in there. He realizes, after a moment, that there’s a void on the top of the nightstand, and he touches his finger to it, half smiles after a second. His badge goes there. Gibbs taps the spot, smile widening a bit for no real reason as he shuts the door and the drawer to where it was before, long hours of undercover training making it next to impossible for him to leave a trace of himself behind. He takes another sip of coffee, moving to the closet, barely peeks a head in before pulling away.   
  
He wanders into the bathroom, and the smell of everything Tony is stronger here. He resists the urge to breathe in deep. There’s torturing yourself and there’s  _torturing_  yourself. The bathroom is actually cleaner than the other two rooms, less things spread over convenient countertops. He nudges open the medicine cabinet, but there’s not much interesting in there, an old bottle of pain pills. He squints at the date and grimaces, realizing it’s probably from the whole Rivkin clusterfuck. He puts them back, a little annoyed at the reminder. He closes the door after a few more seconds of cataloguing uninteresting things. He catches a glimpse of himself in the mirror and realizes with a shock that he’s smiling again. He stares at himself for a moment, then rubs a hand over his mouth, wiping the smile away. He breathes in deep, trying to calm himself, but instead he gets a lung full of Tony, and the smile slips back onto his face.   
  
Wait, why is he smiling? He’s annoyed still about the pills. He can feel annoyance curled in his stomach, but there’s clearly a smile in the mirror. He breathes in again, getting that smell deep into his lungs and the smile widens. He watches himself, removed from it, studying his own face like he does suspects in interrogation.   
  
Oh.   
  
Oh.   
  
He’s in love with Tony.   
  
It’s this realization that makes the smile fall away, and he has to brace himself against the counter for a second, reeling as his lies to himself fall down like a house of slippery cards. And different thoughts are crashing into him from all sides, but it eventually boils down to this.   
  
What can he possibly do now?   
  
Re-doing the night with Tony was supposed to be a  _preventative_  measure. To stop him from sinking in too deep into another person, but if he’s already in love with Tony – if he’s already there, then he’s already sunk.   
  
God.   
  
He stares at himself at the mirror for another long moment, before leaving the room quickly, grabbing his coffee like it’s a life raft. He takes a long, slow drink, trying to work out what the hell he’s supposed to do now.   
  
He’d got to set things right. He wants Tony back in his bed, in his house, everywhere.   
  
He’s just got to figure out how to get him there.   
  
He considers it for a long moment, drinking his coffee, he finishes the cup. He tosses it out and grimaces a little when he realizes he’ll have to  _apologize_ .   
  
He grabs the other cup of coffee to fortify himself against that thought. It’s cold though, so he wanders over to set it in the microwave, watching the cup spin around as he tries to figure out how to do this.   
  
He’s apologized before he’s pretty sure. He can man up and do it. It’ll be fine.   
  
The microwave beeps and he pulls out the coffee, catching a glimpse of the time as he shuts the door. 4:30? When did it get that late? He checks his watch, just to make sure, and yes, it’s already 4:30 in the morning. He frowns at the front door, wondering why Tony hasn’t come home yet. He’d thought he was at work but –   
  
He forces that thought to stop there. No. Tony wouldn’t –   
  
Why not? A horrible part of him asks. What’s stopping him? It’s not like they’re  _together_ . He ended any hope they had of that pretty thoroughly not 24 hours ago. It’s stupid, naive and stupid, to think that Tony is incapable of moving on. He’d  _hoped_  Tony would move on in fact, that had been the whole  _point_ .   
  
He just had (selfishly, stupidly) thought it would take a little while.   
  
He realizes after a second that he’s actually  _hurt_  by this, and flinches away from the feeling. Because it’s his fault really, it’s all his fault, he has no right to be hurt or annoyed or anything.   
  
He has no right.   
  
He grips his still mostly full cup tightly, and casts a quick look around the room, abruptly embarrassed that he came and sat here for  _four hours_ , and makes sure there’s no sign of himself before he leaves, locking the door behind him.   
  
It’s only when he gets home that he remembers the coffee cup he’d thrown out.   
  
***   
He spends one hour on his boat, but all he can think about is breaking it apart and smashing the thing to pieces, and the staircase is glaring at him accusingly, and he can barely look at it without seeing himself pressing Tony up against that wall right there.   
  
The ghosts are absent.   
  
So he goes into work, and starts an interrogation horridly early, making the excuse that it’ll knock the guy off his story. He hasn’t slept in two days now, and his eyes itch vaguely but there’s no time for that now, and his increased temper is good for something and McCarthy breaks right around 7.   
  
He grits his teeth and calls Tony, who answers on the end of a laugh, and Gibbs refuses to think about who he’s probably eating breakfast with right now. He doesn’t waste time with pleasantries, but then, he never has, “McCarthy broke, we’re breaking down the door in five minutes.”   
  
Tony’s silent for a second, and Gibbs does  _not_  search for sounds of someone else in the background, but there’s only Tony’s sleepy voice asking, “Did you get the warrant?” and Gibbs slams the phone down so hard that the person in the desk behind him jumps and stares.   
  
The raid is fast and brutal, and Gibbs has barely a second to see Tony until after, when there’s a new livid bruise blooming under the skin of his jaw. Gibbs pretends that he wasn’t going to inspect his jaw for new marks, and pretends harder that the bruise doesn’t bother him at all.   
  
This is blown out of the water when they actually end up trapped in the elevator together. Gibbs has never been claustrophobic in this elevator before.   
  
Tony keeps sending him short, considering glances in the reflective surface of the doors, and Gibbs does his best to ignore him. Which works until Tony says, in a tone that Gibbs can’t read, “So, someone broke into my apartment last night.”   
  
Gibbs is bitter and angry and tired and hungry and guilty and hurt and in love. And he hates dealing with one emotion let alone fifty, so he snaps back, “I don’t think that has anything to do with the job at hand Agent DiNozzo.”   
  
Tony’s spine snaps straight like Gibbs just slapped him, and Gibbs has to look away, take a sip from his coffee cup to clear his throat of the odd lump that’s grown up and is trying to choke him.   
  
Tony is silent for a long moment and then his voice is calm and measured and careful, his tongue handling the words like bombs, “If your goal is to make me hate you you’re doing an admirable job. Agent Gibbs.”   
  
Then the doors slide open and Tony steps off and the doors slide closed again and Gibbs is alone.   
  
It’s silent.   
  
Gibbs’s ears ache.   
  
***   
It goes on like that for four days. And on the fourth day Gibbs decides he’s tired of feeling guilty about this, because, alright, he made a mistake, but it’s not like he’s killed Tony’s dog or something. Tony obviously got over it fine. He doesn’t deserve to be punished like this. He really doesn’t.   
  
This, of course, does not stop him from feeling guilty.   
  
Tony’s sitting at his desk, hands folded in front of him looking like some bastardization of the perfect NCIS agent. It’s annoying and grates on his nerves like nothing else he’s ever come in contact with, and he can’t stop himself from snapping, a little desperate, “Are you going to be done being pissed at me anytime soon?” just because he wants to know how long this is going to be going on.   
  
Something passes over Tony’s face, something dark and angry and if Gibbs were the kind of person that retreated, that face alone would make him do it, he’s not though, so he just keeps looking at Tony, facing him down.   
  
Tony has always fought just a little more dirty then he has though, and his voice is clam and measured as he says, “I don’t think that has anything to do with the job at hand Agent Gibbs.”   
  
Gibbs abruptly wants to  _throw_  something, toss then pen in his hand as hard as he can and  _hit_  Tony with it, but he controls himself, abruptly realizing that Ziva is watching them the same way she watches unexploded bombs, and he can’t handle it, tosses down his pen and escapes. It’s not retreat. It’s a strategic withdrawal so that he doesn’t kill his whole team.   
  
He’s in the break room when Abby walks in, and he refuses to run away again. She give him a look, like she’s disappointed in him, and he fights not to flinch from it. A large part of him wants to scream that he  _didn’t know_ . That breaking up with Tony was  _logical_  at the time, before he realized that they were  _already_  screwed, and he’d take it back now if he could, but Tony’s moved on, and he won’t be the older man begging his younger lover to come back. He won’t.   
  
Not just yet.   
  
He swallows back that voice though, snapping a bit at Abby, just needing to get her eyes off of him, “What do you want?”   
  
She gives him a thoroughly unimpressed look, then softens a little, reaching out to hug him tight and close, “I know you’re a stupidhead, but I love you anyway.”   
  
Gibbs doesn’t really know what to do with that, has absolutely no idea what she’s talking about, but then, he rarely understands what Abby says, so it’s probably habit that has him hugging her back and not even really wondering what that meant. He luxuriates in the hug a little more then he would usually let himself.   
  
He finds out a few seconds later what the hell Abby was talking about, when McGee wanders up and takes his seat slowly, responding to Ziva’s question with a shaky, embarrassed, “I don’t think that has anything to do with the job at hand Agent David.”   
  
Gibbs closes his eyes for half a second. Well, that explains Abby, she’s raising the troops to continue his punishment. He wonders how much she knows, how much she told Tim.   
  
Maybe he deserves it.   
  
He doesn’t even know anymore.   
  
***   
He goes home, because there’s nowhere else to go, and sits in front of his boat staring at it. He knows, mentally, that he loves working on his boats, he loves it like he loves nothing else in his life.   
  
But knowing that doesn’t help convince him that he wants to right now.   
  
He spends the night staring at the shell of an almost-boat, sipping rotgut out of a mug, and dreading tomorrow like he’s facing execution. He has no doubt that Abby has galvanized everyone at this point and he’s going to be facing down all of them tomorrow.   
  
He takes another long drink of the rotgut to fortify himself against the thought.   
  
This is going to suck, he thinks, staring straight ahead.   
  
Around three he switches to coffee, because he won’t go to work drunk, and it doesn’t look like he’s going to sleep anyway.   
  
At six he stands, makes his way upstairs to change. And heads off to war.   
  
***   
It’s pretty much like he expected, though watching Tim and Ziva attempt to be professional while obviously holding in laughter would be amusing under other circumstances.   
  
He watches Tony from the corner of his eye as he pretends that he knows what he’s doing with the computer. He looks drawn, and oddly tired, though his eyes are lit with something that they weren’t yesterday and Gibbs hopes for a second that this is a chink in the ice. But he realizes that it’s just relit purpose, that having people on his side has only increased Tony’s dedication to his cause. Whatever the hell that cause is, Gibbs has lost the plot to all of this about two days ago.   
  
He thinks it might have something to do with following rules, but he’s mostly at a loss to what exactly about rules that Tony is taking exception to. Unless it’s just that Gibbs threw rule 12 in his face as an excuse, but that seems a little childish. And hell, it’s not like Tony cared all that much anyway.   
  
They get a case around eight, and the phone ringing is a blessed sound in the far too quiet squad room.   
  
The crime scene doesn’t bear thinking about.   
  
He goes to autopsy as soon as he gets back to headquarters, desperate for someone who’ll  _talk_  to him. He forgets sometimes how easy it is to get starved for human contact. Ducky is good at talking above all else.   
  
Of course, when he steps into autopsy he’s faced with yet another soldier in Abby’s war against him. He’s disappointed and frustrated and oddly lonely and he knows going to Abby’s lab won’t be any better, but there’s really no other choice.   
  
In the elevator he talks himself into a good angry. They’re ignoring the case, letting this murderer slip away because they’re overjoyed with the opportunity to drive him crazy in some kind of revenge. They’re going to let this guy get away and probably the next one and it’s just  _stupid_ . Anger burns in the pit of his stomach, and he lets himself walk into Abby’s lab, practically spoiling for a fight.   
  
He’s faced with the sight of her in her court outfit, remembers suddenly, when Jenny had passed around a memo about dress code, and Abby had been so upset, and it just makes him more angry. He asks, just because he needs to be sure, “Court today Abbs?”   
  
She spins around and begins some of the most horrid acting he’s ever seen and the way she hams it up makes it clear that everyone in the squad room and probably Ducky are watching this, and at this point it’s just lighter fluid on the fire, making him even more upset and angry. And words spill out of his mouth without his conscious decision, “If you say ‘NCIS protocol dictates’ you are  _fired_ .”   
  
Abby stares at him for a moment, and he realizes what he just said,  _who_  he just threatened, and the anger melts into regret so fast it gives him a stomach ache. Abby’s voice is shaky as she says, “I’m sorry?” and Gibbs  _hates_  himself.   
  
“Abbs-“   
  
She sounds a little angry now, but still shaky and Gibbs has no idea what to do, how to make this  _better_ , “No really Agent Gibbs. I don’t think I heard you. What did you say to me?”   
  
“Abby-“   
  
She turns away from him, back tense and angry, and he swallows back something, “I think you should probably go now.”   
  
He breathes out slowly, nods after a second, “Yeah, I think I should.”   
  
He turns to do just that, but Abby’s voice interrupts him, and she still sounds shaky, but determined now, “Rule number one, all rules can be broken.”   
  
He stops, and he’s too tired of all of this to parse what that means, offers, “There already is a rule number one.”   
  
She shrugs at him with one shoulder, “There are two. There might as well be three.”   
  
He doesn’t know what that means, but figures maybe she’s waiting for an apology, and he doesn’t even hesitate before offering one, screw Franks, he was wrong and he  _hurt_  Abby, and not even Franks’s opinion of apologies is going to stop him from saying, “I’m sorry.”   
  
She half smiles, he can see it in her monitor, and ducks her head a little, “I know you are Gibbs.”   
  
He nods a little, flicks a glance to the camera, hoping like hell Tim turned it off before that.   
  
He leaves Abby’s lab, goes to the staircase, because there’s nowhere else to go right now. Tony’s probably looking for him anyway.   
  
He hopes.   
  
He leans against the wall by the door, closing his eyes, and just  _breathes_  for a moment, slow and measured. He thinks about sandpaper, the sound it makes as he brushes it over wood, the smooth measured glide of it. He syncs his breathing to the sound in his head, trying to calm down, make himself  _stop thinking_ . But Tony’s ruined boats for him, the bastard, and all he thinks about is that moment, that single moment, when he felt Tony behind him on Wednesday and looked up, and everything fell apart faster than he could fix it.   
  
He’s playing that moment endlessly in his mind, the glide of paper, the look up, the understanding that came later, he shies away from the bedroom though, restarting again at the slide of paper over wood.   
  
The sound of a door opening on another level interrupts his thoughts, and he opens his eyes slowly to watch Tony coming towards him. A part of him, the optimistic part that’s long since been buried, but probably not deep enough, is wondering if this is the opportunity he needs, if this latest has pushed Tony over the edge and now they’ll get to  _talk_ again.   
  
And then Tony’s badge is being pressed into his hand, his gun on top of it, and every part of him recoils, retreats from the  _wrongness_  of it. He barely hears what Tony’s saying over the rush in his ears, and he’ll hit himself for it later, because it’s important to remember these moments.   
  
“…I’ll live, but I won’t let you throw away everything else that’s good in your life …”   
  
“…don’t have to watch you …”   
  
“…My desk will be cleaned out by the time you get back tomorrow morning.”   
  
And then Tony’s gone and Gibbs is left staring at the horrible things in his hands. He stares at them for far longer then he should, swallowing back regret and horror and God, one of these days he’s going to write IRONY on a big piece of shooting paper and shoot the shit out of it. This is what he was trying to avoid, exactly this, this desolation of being alone again. He swallows again, a few more times, wishes desperately for a cup of coffee.   
  
He can’t hold these. They’re too heavy in his hands, they’re pulling all the heat from him, and he has to set them down, setting them on the stairwell there. He turns his back on them, because he’s got other things to think about and Tony’s voice whispers through his mind.  _“won’t let you throw away everything else that’s good in your life”_   
  
No, that’s not what he’s doing. It’s  _not_ . This is different, this is – he was just  _mad_ . He’ll make it right again. He will.   
  
He opens the door, steps out of the staircase, and into Abby’s lab again. The elevator doors slip shut as he passes them, and he catches sight of Tim’s shirtsleeve. He refuses to hesitate before stepping into her office.   
  
He can tell she knows he’s there, can see it in the way her shoulders come together a little, but she doesn’t acknowledge him, and he doesn’t make her, waiting for her to speak first.   
  
After a while, she does, and thank God, her voice isn’t shaking anymore, it’s even, but still a little hurt, “That was mean Gibbs.”   
  
“So’s this plan of yours Abbs.” Which isn’t what he meant to say, but is true.   
  
She pouts a little, “Not my fault you’re being stupid.”   
  
“I’m not –“ He stops, forces his voice lower, calmer, “I’m not being stupid.”   
  
She snorts, “Rule 12 is a stupid reason to kick Tony out Gibbs.”   
  
He sighs soft, “That wasn’t the reason.”   
  
She stops whatever she’s doing on the computer then, finally, turns to look at him, crosses her arms over her chest, “What was the reason then?”   
  
He hesitates, but can’t make himself say anything, because that part  _was_  stupid, instead he shakes his head, “Doesn’t matter. He’d already moved on by the time I realized I was wrong.”   
  
Abby frowns at him and opens her mouth, but she’s interrupted by Tim’s voice over her phone, “Abby? Tony’s desk is cleared off.”   
  
Gibbs closes his eyes, because he’s  _not thinking about that_ , forces himself to ignore the quick, frantic conversation with Tim, and only tunes back in when Abby sucks in a harsh breath, “ _Gibbs._ What did – go  _fix_ it. Now! I’ll clear it with Vance.”   
  
He opens his mouth to protest, but realizes that it wouldn’t be a good idea, plus, he doesn’t really want to. She’s glaring at him, and he coughs, un-sticking the words from his throat, “I really am sorry Abby.”   
  
She half smiles, “I know. Go. Fix.”   
  
He does.   
  
***   
In the car on the way, because he’s not stupid, or at least, he’s trying not to be, he calls in for flowers to be delivered to Abby’s lab, and another bunch to her house. It’ll probably be a little while before she forgives him, but he’ll do anything he can to speed up the process.   
  
He’s a little tense when he picks the lock on Tony’s front door, there’d been no response to his knocking, and he can’t hear anything from the inside.   
  
He promises himself that if the apartment’s empty he’ll turn around and leave immediately.   
  
He walks in, and a strong sense of relief hits him, right in the stomach, when he hears the low hiss of the shower. He takes a seat on the couch, setting Tony’s badge on the table, then his gun right above it.   
  
He wonders what the hell he’s going to say until the shower shuts off.   
  
Tony steps out (and it is really not fair that this conversation is going to happen when Tony’s wet and wearing only a towel) and stares at him.   
  
They stare at each other for a long moment, and Gibbs becomes completely distracted by the ghost of a bruise just under Tony’s clavicle. He remembers leaving that bruise. Christ, a week ago. It seems like so much longer.   
  
Tony finally rolls his shoulders and speaks, trying to be casual, but Gibbs can see the effort it takes him, “You know, every time you pick my lock I’ve got to fix it or it won’t close right again.”   
  
He wants to smile, distantly, but this is really not the time. He stares ahead, trying to think of what to say. He’s never been good with words, not like this, and it’s unfair that everything is resting on his ability to  _speak_ , “I thought we should talk.”   
  
Tony’s laugh is bitter, and it makes his stomach curl and his hands flex against the couch cushion, “Really? What gave you that idea Gibbs?” he wants to protest that that’s unfair, that he’s  _trying_ , but he’s not  _good_  at this, doesn’t Tony know that already?   
  
He snaps a little, embarrassed and desperate, “Shut it Tony. It’s my turn now.” Tony’s mouth snaps shut obediently, and ain’t that a kick in the teeth? “I talked to Abby, bought her flowers” he’s somewhere between amused and resigned, “It’s fine Tony. I’m not” he tries to remember what Tony said in the stairs, but most of it was lost to the noise in his ears, “sabotaging my life or whatever you were talking about. I was just pissed.”   
  
Tony’s silent, for a long moments, and Gibbs counts the beats of his heart until he speaks again, fourteen, “That’s not –that’s not really the point Gibbs.”   
  
He grips the couch cushion again, curses himself mentally, he should have paid better attention. He swallows, hopes he doesn’t lose too many points when he asks, “Then what is the point?”   
  
Tony looks abruptly exhausted, and brings a hand up to rub at his head, and he sounds  _tired_  as he speaks, “I’m in love with you.” Gibbs jumps a little, surprised, speechless, and Tony steams ahead, unaware of his shock, “You get that right? I mean, it was bad enough, the last ten years, but at least then I still had hope you know? But now – I can’t work with you everyday Gibbs. Jethro. It’s turning me into someone I don’t want to be. I don’t want to be Agent DiNozzo.” He gets past the shock slowly, fighting his way through to a place where this makes sense. Tony keeps talking, “And I don’t know how else to deal with this.”   
  
“You seemed to have gotten over it pretty fast.” For a second, Gibbs thinks maybe someone else just spoke, but no, it’s him. God he is  _so_  bad at this.   
  
Tony stares at him, “ _What_ ? What part of these last few days makes you think I’m  _over_  any-” Gibbs stares back, and he watches realization break over Tony’s face like a wave, and he wishes he understood too, “Oh you stupid bastard. Oh you stupid fucking bastard.” He scowls, because that’s unfair, again, and he’s about to say so, but Tony keeps going, “You came here that first night, you came here, the door was picked and a coffee cup was in the trash. But it takes you a good hour to drink a coffee that size doesn’t it? So you were here at least that long waiting for me. And when I didn’t come home – when I didn’t come back you thought I’d what, gone out to a bar to pick up a girl?” Gibbs scowls hard, “Oh my God Gibbs you stupid fucking bastard.”   
  
This is driving him  _crazy_ , and he snaps, standing, “Are you telling me you didn’t?”   
  
“I was at work!” It’s like being punched in the gut, all the air goes out of his lungs and he can’t  _breathe_  for a long unending second, “I was at work because I didn’t want to go home because some asshole had just broken my heart and I didn’t want to sit alone in my apartment and think about him. What did you come here for anyway?”   
  
He still can’t quite breathe, and it takes him a while before he can speak loud enough for other people to hear, “To apologize.”   
  
Tony looks like Gibbs just hit  _him_ , and he’s comforted that even though this whole thing is FUBAR, at least they were both equally lost.   
  
“You. Were. Going to say you were. Sorry. To me.” Gibbs is frustrated, kicks aimlessly, annoyed that this is happening, annoyed that it’s all falling apart when it  _could have_  worked if he wasn’t so  _stupid_ .   
  
He grinds it out, “Yes. I was.”   
  
Tony’s completely thrown, and stumbles over his words, “I – You – Wha-“   
  
He mentally completes those sentences (I don’t understand. You hate apologies. What the hell?) and interrupts, because there’s only one answer to anything Tony’s going to say, “I love you.”   
  
He has the dubious pleasure of seeing Tony attempt to add more shock to his system, when he already can’t seem to process, but any amusement he might have felt at the sight is choked away by the overwhelming regret that he forced them to this, that Tony still hasn’t taken back his gun, that everything is ruined. He’s tired, “I just – I love you alright? Can we be done with this please?”   
  
Tony blinks for a few seconds, obviously still dealing with the shock and Gibbs  _itches_ , wants to go, wants Tony to  _take his badge back_ , and he wants to get out so he can go lick his wounds in peace.   
  
Tony laughs, laughs and smiles, bright and beaming, and all his plans derail with a lurch. He feels his stomach drop out, but he doesn’t dare hope, can’t hope. But Tony reaches for him, and their lips meet and he can. He breathes out against Tony’s mouth, shocked, and so fucking thankful. He pulls himself in close as he can get, as close as Tony lets him until Tony pulls back, still smiling, and he can’t help but echo it helplessly joyful, “You. You are sleeping on the couch. And if you try to throw me out again I’m going to kill you.”   
  
And he has no idea how everything’s okay now, understands that Tony is probably forgiving him for more then he really deserves forgiveness for, but he can’t be anything but stupidly, blindly selfish about this, and if Tony wants to forgive him he’s not going to argue. He doesn’t think he could. He leans in, can’t stop touching him now that he gets to again, presses their foreheads together, and those terms are more than acceptable, “Yeah. Alright.”   
  
  
***   
Epilogue   
***   
  
He sleeps on Tony’s couch for four nights, which serves to drive home the fact that Tony’s got an apartment the size of a large postage stamp, and he tries to point out multiple times that he’s got a giant, empty house that’s been quiet for a really long time.   
  
He can’t quite tell if Tony hears the undertone and chooses not to acknowledge it yet, or if he’s just not getting it. So he enlists Abby’s help. He was hoping to just get someone to talk to, but Abby’s always got other plans, and the whole team shows up to move Tony in that weekend. Tony slips into his house with a grin like he can’t believe his luck and he breathes easier.   
  
He’s had some horrible housemates in the past. Women that he loved in hotel rooms and in their own homes, but grew to resent once they encroached on his space. Tony’s different though, slides into his home like there’s been a place just waiting for him. He fills the house with various noises, faded explosions from the television, his voice constantly, those sweet moans that he thought he’d never hear again.   
  
They fight, because how can they not? They spend on average 22 hours a day together and Gibbs is  _bad_  at communication, really really bad at it. But at least he recognizes this fact. Their fights are vicious and nasty, but they blow over remarkably fast. Maybe it’s because they’ve known each other for ten years, they both knew what they were getting into, and they’re both remarkably accepting of each other’s flaws.   
  
It’s a true partnership, like the one Gibbs knew once before. It’s easy and fun, but it’s  _real_  too, and he loves  _them_  as a couple just as much as he loves Tony.   
  
***   
Bonus second epilogue! Because someone asked to see the seating chart.   
***   
  
A month after he has Tony tricked into living with him, he catches Abby looking at what appears to be a seating arrangement on her computer. She gets flustered when he asks about it and then breaks and tells him within four seconds.   
  
“It’s your seating chart! For the wedding. See, I’ve planned for everything. Fornell can sit here, next to Franks, and then Director Vance won’t that table be hilarious? We’ll have to frisk them for guns first though. Or else there’s a good chance the wedding would start off with a murder. We can stick Tony’s dad and yours at the same table, see? And then the team can be here, with you and Tony, and we can put whatever old girlfriends you guys want to invite at  _this_ table.”   
  
He reels a little, staring at the thing, “Old girlfriends?”   
  
“Or ex-wives or whatever. Stephanie would probably come right? She’s nice. She can sit here. Near the bar. She’ll probably want a drink or two. If she’s the only one though, we can probably just stick her in that boys table. She’d be fine I think. And Hollis and Wendy. Not Jeanne because that’s just kind of pushing it. The nice ones that haven’t tried to frame you guys for murder.”   
  
“These plans – they’re really …”   
  
“Well I’ve only been working on them for eight years! You guys were slow. Plus it’s my Uncle Georgie’s B&B, it’s really pretty up there, right on the water, you guys will love it.”   
  
He stares at the seating chart, but only forces himself to speak once Abby pulls out the music list. She already has their first song all picked out and is very excited about it, but then goes down one of her Abby rabbit hole tangents about who would lead and the history of dance. He coughs, drawing her attention back to him, “Did you ever think that maybe we might not want to get married?” The look she gives him then is very clear about her opinion of that, “I mean, I do, but Tony–“   
  
She waves him off, with a snort, “I’ll take care of everything.”   
  
That Saturday she bursts into the basement with two garment bags over her shoulders and rushes them into the car, chattering about how everyone’s already almost there and they’re going to be late. Tony looks at him, hopeful but hesitant, clearly asking a question.   
  
Jeth laughs. 


	2. Wedding Comment Fic

Abby's uncle's B&B is gorgeous, and, as an added bonus, looks nothing like any of the places where Gibbs got married before, and bears no resemblance to the church in Baltimore where Tony was supposed to get married. It's up on a mountain and Abby has, of course, picked the perfect weather for it, with a snow that is still gently falling as Tony and Jeth stand in front of large floor-to-ceiling windows, a justice of the peace in front of them.   
  
It seems like everyone they ever knew is standing there as well, and the whole thing feels kind of picture card perfect. They agree later that it was a really good idea to let Abby handle everything. They probably would have just slunk out of work early and gone to the courthouse on their own. If either of them had ever gotten around to asking, which was by no means guaranteed to ever happen.    
  
This is Tony's favorite moment - They say their own vows, which both of them thought up on the drive up, not that it really required very much thinking on either of their parts. Tony's favorite moment comes when Jeth is saying his vows, voice low and rough and honest, and just for a moment, a fraction of a second, his voice skips, like he's getting choked up, and it's that sound that sticks with Tony all through dinner. Gibbs, of course, denies that it ever happened, but he smiles when he does.   
  
Jeth's favorite moment is when he slides the ring onto Tony's finger and their eyes meet, and Tony grins wide and heartstopping, reaching out to pull him forward into a kiss before they're allowed, then, just as quickly, shoving him back, with "Ok, my turn now!" and sliding his own ring onto Jeth's finger.    
  
When they get to the reception they only manage to stay for about five minutes. Tony's hand keeps wandering up Jeth's thigh, and it's incredibly distracting. Not even Jackson's increasingly loud conversation with Senior is enough to stop them from slipping out as soon as possible. Everyone was searched for firearms already, so it's not like anyone's going to die (probably).


End file.
